


The First Frosts of Autumn

by Sparcina



Series: How Frostiron Could Have Started [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: But Tony sort of have good intentions, Cheating, Explicit Sexual Content, Loki going psychologist, M/M, Made For Each Other, The good side offers cookies too (Loki is part of the Avengers), Tony is a bastard and he knows it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 05:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7787713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tony and Steve’s relationship isn’t going too well, and Tony finds what he really needs in another's arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Frosts of Autumn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arkada](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkada/gifts).



> This work is dedicated to Arkada, author of "Those Sinned Against", a wild ride I can only recommend. The song "Love Me to the End" by Deine Lakaien might be worth listening to.

Their relationship had flourished and deteriorated before, not unlike some fancy rollercoaster propelled by a solid fuel rocket. They had fought and exchanged harsh words, slept in separate rooms, drank themselves into a stupor–Tony, anyways–and found back the spark that bound them together in another feverish make-up sex session.

Maybe it was the ‘another’ that made it different. Tony shook his head. It felt heavy, with thoughts of new designs for the suits, of improvements for the arc reactor, of quantum weaponry to counter the next raid of alien invaders–and of Steve’s face as he left the room in a rush.

The pain etched on his features wasn’t a surprise, for it was the expression his lover wore the most often these past few weeks. The surprise had been the silence. Steve liked to discuss, liked to talk things through–that was what made him such a good team leader, and Fury’s favorite. Tony, on the other hand, liked to tinker things through. It just involved more mathematics, more physics, more metal, and some hellish solitude JARVIS couldn’t quite vanquish.

At least, that was what he told him as he took the elevator down to the common floor.

All lights were dimmed. He walked slowly to the kitchen’s counter and reached for the alcohol cabinet. His favorite bottle was empty–of course it was, since Clint loved the expansive brand even more than dropping unannounced on his fellow Avengers from a dark ceiling, bow drawn and grin ready. Tony rummaged further on the shelf and managed to rescue the strongest vodka in his arsenal, more than half empty.

Half full; half empty. It was all a question of perspective.

“You will have to do, buddy,” he mumbled and twisted the cap open. The fire in his throat didn’t quench the raw wound in his heart, but it gave his bright mind another distraction. He could go to his lab. Work on something useful. He did that a lot these days, between fights, and most of them weren’t against the enemy.

So he stayed leaning against the counter, the bottle in his hand, lips pursed, considering. He didn’t do relationships. His brief liaison with Pepper had told him as much. Why had he become involved with Steve afterwards? It seemed like he really couldn’t learn from past mistakes. He was doomed to copy and paste, over and over, and leave a trail of broken hearts behind.

_God, I am such an asshole._

He gulped down enough vodka to give an eager teenager a blackout and stumbled into the leaving room. The lights were even dimmer here, barely outlining the three huge couches in black leather, the plasma screen hung on the wall and the night shining through the windows. Black on black. Natasha could probably hide in any corner of the room and he would be none the wiser until a knife was pressed to his throat.

There _was_ somebody in the room, except it wasn’t Natasha.

“Hello, Stark.”

Loki Liesmith, former God of Mischief turned consultant for Earth, sat on the central couch, head propped on an elbow, feet crossed on the glass table in front of him. The lights gained in intensity as Tony entered the room, uncovering Loki’s familiar profile, dark hair slicked back, and a suit woven in dark charcoal linen over a metallic green shirt. His tie was barely knotted, the green and black strips trailing down his front. He had a glass in one hand, full of–if Tony wasn’t mistaken, but he rarely was where alcohol was concerned–vodka from the very bottle he held.

One year ago, Loki had battled against Asgard and Misgard, worn fancy clothes and sworn to kill Tony, be it through a window high enough to crush him, by throttling him or burning him alive. And now the same Loki sat in his leaving room, drinking _his_ vodka. Only the fancy clothing hadn’t changed.

Tony had to admit Loki knew how to wear a suit.

“Loki.”

He sat down at the other end of the couch and drank some more. God, he was a mess. Pepper would kick his ass big time if she knew the state he let Steve in. Or she might tell him to break up with Steve already, for the _Captain’s own good._ On that familiar train of thought, he poured another impressive dose of vodka down his throat, before extending the bottle in Loki’s direction.

“Want some?”

The God of Green Eyes raised his own glass, cocking his head to the side.

“Thank you, but I already have my own.”

Tony found himself mentally mapping the hard features, the high cheekbones, the thin lips, keeping the eyes of emerald for last. Loki was centuries old, and yet there were moments, like now, when he appeared no more than thirtyish. Tony felt old and tired.

“I thought humans had only a very small resistance to alcohol,” Loki commented.

“I am not most humans.”

 _No, I am just  a bigger asshole._ Loki’s eyes narrowed.

“Is that why you try to forget?”

Tony didn’t resist when Loki stole the bottle from him, mostly because he was already half-drunk and surprised. Why did Loki _care_? The sound that left his throat resembled a laugh gone sour.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said as way of explaining.

“That is not unusual for you.”

“What is your excuse?”

Loki didn’t reply. He placed the bottle on the table and turned towards him, hands clasped on his thighs. Tony thought of a feline poised for a jump and gulped.

“It doesn’t work because he is too good for you, Stark.”

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it. He certainly wasn’t expecting that direct an approach. Protesting crossed his mind, but what would it accomplish? Loki was right, of course, even if Tony would be damned if he knew _how_ the God had figured human relationships out. Tony Stark, playboy, suicidal hero and crazy engineer–goodness wasn’t part of his genetic makeup, or even his epigenetic potential.

“I kept telling him that,” Tony mused aloud despite himself, considering golden crests of light in Loki’s dark mane. “And he kept convincing me otherwise.”

He felt something cold in him spread, reason at last triumphing over passion. Steve–Captain America–was his childhood muse, an accomplishment of a man, all muscles and devotion and it felt so good to be the one in those arms, the sole target of those kisses! It had turned out Steve had a crush on him long before he admitted it one night in the lab, long after Tony had figured it out but didn’t know how to handle it. And he still didn’t know. He wasn’t good; no, he was the greyest shade of grey on the altruistic spectrum, hovering on psychopath in his darkest moments.

A hand brushed his shoulder. Tony met a pair of green eyes–startling green eyes, of emerald purity and fractal complexity–and let out a heavy breath.

“I am itching for a battle,” he let out.

“Fighting is your running card, Stark.”

Tony felt the beginning of anger bite at the cold scar inside him.

“What if it is? I have no lessons in lifestyles to receive from you.”

Loki didn’t look put out, or even insulted. Tony tensed, awaiting Loki’s vengeful retort or physical dominance, still not trusting him entirely after one year.

Loki grinned. It was a nice grin.

“You do well to be wary of me,” he said, his voice a deeper baritone than Tony remembered.

“Well, you’re an asshole, at least used to be. And it takes an asshole to recognize one.”

“Then you know what is expected of you, Stark.”

Somehow, Tony hadn’t thought it implied kissing Loki, but it apparently did, as he found himself suddenly on his lap, arms wound tight around a slender neck, lips seeking their mirror. A rush of heat gathered around the drinking haze, through it, piercing the veil of self-loathing, and he bit down on a warm lip, drawing a pearl of blood to simmer on his tongue.

Loki responded immediately, grabbing Tony’s hips with strong hands and darting his tongue. His mouth felt cold and hot all at once, winter and summer intertwined into ribbons of sensation. Tony gasped and sucked hard on Loki’s tongue. All the words he couldn’t say, couldn’t think, he drowned them in that kiss, losing his breath with glee. The fact that Loki could throw him across the room or crush his windpipe if the fancy struck him strangely comforted him.

They parted–Tony was out of breath–and stared at each other, hands still possessively cast upon the other. Tony was vibrating with want, recklessness gnawing at him excruciatingly painfully. He mouthed at the pale throat, swelling a bit more at every noise he got. God, the other was a moaner, and the calm assurance he displayed as Tony focused all of his inner rage and determination, painting him anew, _claiming_ him, was one hell of a turn-on.

From then on, it only got better. No hesitation, no askance look for once: only purpose. Loki flipped him over in one motion and straddled him with elegance, going straight for his chest. One flick of the wrist and his night shirt was torn to shreds, exposing the arc reactor. Loki’s hand closed on it, and did Tony imagined things or was the machine humming louder?

“It took you long enough to realize the obvious,” Loki said, and wasn’t his perfectly composed mask an alluring sight to behold.  

“What?” Tony gasped. “That you want me?”

The hard length pressing into his stomach was proof enough. Loki’s hands flew to his throat, thumbs pressing under his jaw. His face was so flush to his own he could count the golden sparks in the green eyes. If he wasn’t too much into gem collecting before, he was rapidly discovering a new hobby.

“That you only found out by accident,” Loki whispered in his ear, mouthing at his earlobe. “You are mortal, Stark: use your time wisely.”

“I’m not the wise type, if you haven’t noticed before. Ask anyone, and I mean _anyone_.”

Loki didn’t bother answering that.

“Don’t come begging if you don’t plan to finish what you started.”

Tony’s mouth went dry.

“I did _not_ beg,” he managed to say.

“But you will.”

It was a little confused after that. The empty bottle of vodka fell to the floor, shattering and blooding their feet. Their clothes mysteriously vanished, and Tony found himself draped in a God’s lean body, back arched against a window overlooking the city.

He couldn’t keep his eyes open, but his hands knew where to go, what to touch and how and when. He hadn’t known Asgardians had such sensitive bodies, and he pursued eagerly this new path of possibilities, groping, stroking, licking and hinting at things that ought to be done, or else.

Loki lifted him effortlessly and kissed him hard, teeth and tongue and groaning, and Tony thought he passed out a couple of time. At some point, he felt a finger buried deep into him, erring on the side of blissfully amazing. The second had him cry out in pleasure–Loki silenced him with a hand–, the third hurt but it didn’t matter; when Loki entered him, at long last, _God_ , it hurt even more and Tony felt tears stream down his cheeks. Loki kissed them away as he fucked him.

“Do you feel it, Stark?”

Tony dissolved in one blinding instant, his screams muffled by five cold fingers. The other thrust twice more inside him, then collapsed in turn. Tony splayed his hands on the pale shoulders and tried to remember how to breathe. He thought about the end of the world, of unexpected alliances and of doomsday devices. His mind filled with scenarios of shared mischief, of something that wasn’t a relationship but could be, different and _possible_. Loki’s intense gaze spoke of similar projects.

“And they say you have sharp mind, Anthony.”

Laugh bubbled in Tony’s chest. He pictured his decision to let Steve go, to let him be happy, and it set the mirth free.

“Welcome in my world.”

 


End file.
